It's Like You're Used to Being Told That You're Trouble
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: Torchwood One hosts a training event for all of the Institute's personnel. There's a chance meeting that leads to intriguing results.


**Author's Notes: This was inspired by a prompt on tumblr. It's only semi-AU, if that, because it can still fit in canon if said canon stretches just a little bit. I hope you enjoy it and don't be afraid to let me know what you think!**

Sometimes Jack had the sick, masochistic desire to be a fly on the wall every time Yvonne Hartman had to make a decision regarding the Torchwood Institute as a whole. He wondered if it would be as disturbing as he imagined it to be, and then shuddered.

Maybe he didn't need to know the exact steps of any thought process that went through her head. He wouldn't come out of it sane.

The Captain sighed as he looked around the hall. It was enormous – probably the largest Torchwood Tower could offer – and currently it hosted the employees and heads of Torchwood One, Two, Three and Torchwood House. Yvonne was up on a makeshift platform, sitting in a chair that disturbingly resembled a throne and occasionally drawled out orders to the agents who wandered close enough to be in hearing range. There was a small first aid tent and that was as much organisation as the Institute had actually managed; everything else was in chaos. By the time he arrived and let his own staff loose amongst everyone here, everyone seemed to already be putting their gear over their daily clothes and the 'aliens' were leaning against the far wall, already dressed up, and made small talk as the rest of the crew tried to get ready with as little fuss as possible.

"Mr Harkness," a cheerful voice said on his left and Jack turned around to see a tall figure, already in full battle gear and a helmet. "I see you've managed to arrive on time."

There wasn't much to be said about the man; Jack could make out just a pair of blue eyes and his soft Welsh accent. It was enough to make him wonder why he'd been recruited in One, but not enough to distract him from the news that the newcomer was here to deliver. "Just barely," he nodded. "And you are..."

"Agent Jones," the man said. He didn't seem inclined to add anything else and neared Jack, holding up the already familiar black gear – in this case, the one that protected the upper body. "I'm supposed to suit you up."

"I don't need that," Jack protested. He liked his exercise to mimic an actual, real-world situation and there was no way he was running out and about dressed like the idiots from special ops.

"Yes, you do," the man countered unceremoniously. "We're doing the training with laser guns and we've got to keep score, because the lasers react only to the gear. Come on, put your arms up."

Jack did as he was told and the man took off his coat with practiced ease and slipped his braces off just as efficiently. "Do you make a habit of undressing men in your line of duty?" he asked, unable to resist a little bit of flirting to ease his irritation.

"You have no idea," the man quipped and Jack raised his eyebrows. The agent caught him at it and two blue eyes assessed him quickly. "If you find the thought so scandalous, why did you ask?"

"Oh, it's not _scandalous_ at all," Jack said shakily, trying to ignore the way the man's accent had wrapped around that particular word. "I just didn't expect someone from Torchwood One to be so blatant. Everyone here seems to have a stick up their butt, and not in the fun way, either."

"I don't think there's an unfun way to have a stick up your butt, Captain."

"Captain, is it?" Jack repeated, intrigued. "You know quite a bit about me, don't you?"

"It's my job to memorise useless Torchwood-related trivia," the man shrugged as he zipped the jacket over Jack's shirt.

"Sounds fun," Jack approved. "And I still don't know your name," he pointed out in a way that was supposed to be nonchalant, but carried just the hint of teasing.

"Yes, you do. I told you, it's Jones."

"You're a Welsh guy who doesn't want to give away his identity and you're going by _Agent Jones_? Are you even trying?"

"Hush," Jones reprimanded and dragged Jack along until they got behind the first aid tent. "Take your trousers off."

This day was suddenly looking considerably brighter. "I knew you would be fun to play with."

There was just enough of a window in the helmet for Jack to see the eye roll behind the visor. "I've got to put you into the rest of the gear. Most of the people came with the bottom half already on."

"My team didn't," Jack objected. "Who's going to take care of them?"

"Someone else got assigned to them, I suppose," Jones said. "I don't plan on touching your staff."

"Don't you now," Jack grinned as he took his trousers off over his boots and tossed them to the ground, obediently lifting one foot off the ground and then the other so that Jones could put the trousers on and then fasten the belt by connecting it to the jacket. "Why are we doing this, by the way?" he asked, nodding to the rest of the hall and the battle everyone was preparing for.

"The entire exercise is fuelled by Miss Hartman's desire to compare the training of the field agents and the nerds from the upper floors and see if everyone will team up well should the need arise."

"Like hell they will," Jack scoffed. "I bet they'll be running about like a bunch of headless chickens."

"As amusing as I'm finding the mental image, I think our department is rather well-behaved in most cases," Jones stated as he picked up Jack's helmet. Jack took a moment to appraise him from behind before he stood up and then let the words sink in.

"Wait, you're one of the nerds?" He asked, just a bit startled. "You don't look like it."

"We all go through initiation when we join," Jones confided. "We all know our way around a gun. They test us and if we have a high pain tolerance, we're turned into field agents."

"And why are you not a field agent?" Jack asked, perplexed. It wasn't that he knew anything about this guy's level of pain tolerance, but he seemed rather unhappy to be a part of the office rather than the first line in battle. "To me it looks like you fit all the requirements in the physical department."

He made sure to slide his eyes down the man's body and sensed rather than saw the smile he got in return.

"I'm too trigger-happy, apparently," the man huffed. "Close your eyes."

Jack did as he was told and felt the helmet slip over his head and flatten his hair. The feeling was rather unpleasant – who knew how many people had worn this thing before him? – but it was still better than getting an elbow in the nose or going blind via laser.

"I thought too trigger-happy is a good thing when it comes to field agents," Jack said and watched curiously as Jones picked up weapons for them. They seemed to be part-human, part-alien but the man was clearly used to handling them.

"Trigger-happy is good, too trigger happy is 'disastrous and disgusting abuse of protocol', especially when turned against your co-workers. In my defence, he was being ridiculous and I only shot him in the leg."

"You know," Jack said pensively with an ever widening smile, "I'm starting to like you more and more."

 **o.O.o**

"I see you've dealt with him," Yvonne said approvingly as she went to check the teams that had formed around the hall. The 'aliens' – which, apparently, were played by agents who had screwed something up in the last week or so, if Jones was to be trusted, were looking more bored than ever, even if they looked ready to put up a good fight.

"I did, Ma'am," Jones nodded and nudged Jack in the ribs. The Captain saluted with only a few seconds of delay. "I took the liberty of forming a duo."

"I don't see why not," Yvonne shrugged. "The research department and the head of a branch; seems like you'll even each other out well enough if you use your brain and Harkness gives himself a bit of a workout."

"I'm glad you think me fit of coming up with a suitable strategy, Ma'am," Jones said. His voice had turned pleasant and almost unrecognisable from the man who had not five minutes ago made implicit remarks.

"Of course, Jones," Yvonne said with a just-as-contained smile and patted him on the shoulder before moving on.

"What is it between you two?" Jack asked, just a bit disturbed. He could see about one fifth from Jones's face, but he didn't look – or sound – more than twenty years old.

"She hates me," Jones confided. "Not _hate_ hate me, but doesn't like having me around. Not if it means giving me a weapon. She loves me, really, if I'm just making up plans and sitting behind desks."

"I know the feel," Jack nodded sympathetically just as he saw everyone else assume position and the aliens started advancing. "Well, let's get started, shall we?"

 **o.O.o**

It turned out the team they made wasn't half bad. For all of his comments about how hot-headed he was, Jones was actually pretty good at what he was doing. Had this been a real invasion – and it wasn't; Jack was reminded of that fact every time he thought about how sluggish the 'aliens' were – he would have been exactly up to Yvonne's standards – meaning, of course, that he was a cold-blooded murdered.

"You seem impressed," the boy pointed out a bit breathlessly as they went away for their short lunch break. Seconds before said break had started, Jack had been shot in the leg and Jones had offered to fix it, so here they were now; with Jones's fingers rolling up Jack's trousers and gently massaging his calf. Jack tried to hold back a whimper. His grasp was sure and firm and Jack did his best to keep his thoughts from wandering in the direction of those large hands straying up to other areas of his body; ones, specifically, that were currently aching in much more pleasant ways when compared to his leg.

"You're good," he admitted on a hiss as Jones figured out a particularly hard knot. Jack swore mentally to never let one of those demonic laser things to touch him again and went on. "Very good, even, but I wouldn't want you on my team."

"And why would that be, now?" the man asked innocently and lifted Jack's bare leg on his lap, massaging it idly.

"You like killing things," Jack ground out. He didn't know when his eyes had slipped shut or when his voice had turned into a blissful murmur. Whenever it had happened, though, he was sure of one thing: he was rather annoyed by it – it was turning something supposed to be a reprimand into a compliment. "Which is all well and good for Torchwood One, but I don't work like that. Not anymore, anyway, so you won't really fit in."

"And therefore you wouldn't want me on your team," Jones finished. He seemed to have accepted the unwilling compliment, because he didn't sound at all bothered about Jack's opinion of him. "But you want me on something else, don't you?"

And really, Jack couldn't see the harm. The other agent was too cocky and confident for his own good, but he was also terribly clever and Jack knew that he wouldn't allow things to go far enough to cause any of them any trouble.

"Yes," he breathed almost reverently and mere seconds later his helmet was taken off his head and tossed to the ground. Jones pulled his own helmet off as well and Jack saw him for the first time.

He'd been right; he _was_ young. Almost young enough to Jack to ask himself if it had been legal for Yvonne to bring him into this freak show. If he ignored that detail, though, he had to admit that he was gorgeous. The already familiar blue eyes were accompanied by plump, ridiculously pink lips, a pale face, an upturned nose and messy, heavily gelled dark hair. The first word that came to Jack's mind was _cute_ ; it was nothing like the ruggedly handsome man he'd imagined was hiding under the protective gear. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the sight – he really, really did – but Jones was more of a boy than a man and more pretty than handsome. Which, by sheer luck, suited Jack just fine.

He leant in swiftly and brought Jones up so he could kiss him; sweet and prolonged and unrushed. It was something he insisted upon no matter the situation – when it came to sex, he didn't like rushing things, even if they were in a makeshift tent in the heart of Torchwood One.

"What if someone comes in?" Jones asked and Jack raised a sceptical eyebrow at the wicked gleam in his eyes.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" He asked, lowering his head just slightly to trace the man's scent with his nose. Jones obediently turned to the side, letting Jack enjoy the heavy, distinctive scent that all the men from this century wore. Each of them had their own trace, something that Jack would recognise them by, but there was the same underlying pattern that he absolutely adored. It was blunt and primitive and he liked to bury himself in it every time he got the chance. "You can't tell me you aren't entertaining the thought of getting could here while you suck me off."

"Oh, so I'll be the one doing the sucking off, then?" Jones challenged. "That's good to know."

"You asked me if I'd like you on something," Jack grinned, shark-like and predatory as he watched the younger man's eyes widen. "I think the answer is very clearly 'yes'."

"It'd be my pleasure," Jones said, not taking his eyes off Jack's even though Jack could feel his fingers already ruining the carefully constructed gear he'd put him into less than two hours earlier. One of his hands – distressingly cold against Jack's heated skin – dove under his pants and the Captain's smile widened as the boy's eyes fluttered closed. He kept watching, mesmerised as he bit his lip, his teeth sinking into the vulnerable skin.

It was more than he could take. He stole another kiss and relaxed back into his chair as Jones sank to his knees, the mouth he'd been admiring seconds earlier wrapping around him with practiced ease.

Jack didn't want to think about how someone so evidently young could master such skills to perfection. Quite frankly, he didn't want to think at all, but he still felt that he owed the boy something better than this. They probably didn't have long – it was a matter of time before someone got hurt and walked in on the two of them – so he blindly reached down and sank his fingers in Jones's hair to pull him up.

"C'mere," he mumbled eagerly. "Take off your–" He gestured towards his clothes and Jones got to it even faster than he had with Jack's clothes. "Do you have–"

"What?" Jones asked. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not even wearing my own clothes."

"We'll have to go old school, then," Jack shrugged. "But there's still–"

"Hang on," Jones interrupted and reached for the first aid kit on the floor. He rummaged through it hastily and gave a small cry of victory as he found the small square package. "All of the first aid kits in the Institute have got condoms in them," he announced breezily. "Doesn't say much good about us, but it does come in handy."

"Yes, yes, Torchwood One is brilliant," Jack snapped, though there wasn't any heat in the words. "I've heard that one before. Now suck, please."

He offered the boy his fingers and he latched onto them hungrily, thoroughly moisturising them in a way that left Jack breathless and impatient for more. He'd guessed from the first words they'd exchanged that Jones had a rather clever tongue and he enjoyed both sides of that all too much. "Enough," he murmured, but Jones either didn't hear him or pretended not to. "Enough, soldier, or I'll have to shoot you," he added with voice that was equal parts playful and stern and Jones rewarded him with a brilliant smile.

"Oh, no," he purred. "What would I do then? Helpless and unable to move; only having to rely on a frustrated Captain's tender mercies."

"I'll give you frustrated," Jack growled, even though he wouldn't, not really, because he himself couldn't wait any longer. In fact, the only thing stopping him from being even louder than he was happened to be the constant if muffled noises from outside that reminded him where exactly they were.

"I severely doubt that," Jones said flippantly and climbed on Jack's lap, at which point Jack promptly forgot his own name.

 **o.O.o**

"Jones, what's going on in there?"

The voice was coming somewhere from the outside and Jack tried to clear his head from the haze that had descended upon it. "What?" he slurred. His nose was buried in a long, elegant neck and Jones's hair was tickling his cheek, and he kind of liked the current state of events.

"Can I come in?" It was a woman's voice, although very obviously not Yvonne and Jack scrambled to his feet, much to his partner in crime's noisy protests.

"No!" Jack exclaimed. "No, it's... Agent Jones is helping me with my wound. It was very far up my leg." There was doubtful silence on the other end of the entrance. " _Very_ far up."

"I don't need to hear this," the woman said resolutely and raised her voice. "Jones, if you're hearing me, Miss Hartman says you should get back to work."

"Come over here and make me," Jones challenged as he did his trousers up. He looked about as worried about being caught as Jack was – not at all – and stretched indulgently like a cat. Jack followed the movement with growing interest.

"Don't tempt her," he said and was happy to see that his smile had the desired effect – the boy grinned in return. "I would like to keep you here for a while longer."


End file.
